


Up in Smoke

by W1tchmom



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 02:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13425249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/W1tchmom/pseuds/W1tchmom
Summary: When you watched MFMM, did you dream about being a damsel in distress who gets adopted by Miss Fisher while she and her plucky gang of misfits help to solve your case and save you from a creepy dude while you fall into a passionate romance with Bert, the red ragger with a hand rolled cigarette and a heart of gold?No? Was that just me?Anyway, no one asked for this but here you go.





	1. In Which Miss Fisher Adopts Another One

“So, what you are telling me” Detective Inspector Jack Robinson said, clearly resisting an intense urge to roll his eyes “is that you believe you have a stalker but you don't know who he is and you can't describe him and you haven't any idea why he would be stalking you in the first place.”

 

“Yes.” You said, clenching your jaw.

 

“You must understand that there is not much we can do in this situation. You know we have already set up a patrol to check in on your house every night. What else can we do? We don't have the manpower to keep you under surveillance day and night.”

 

“You sent one bored constable to park across from my house each night at 6pm for five minutes before driving away. That doesn't help!” You just knew that you were playing into the hysterical woman stereotype as you raised your voice at the bored looking inspector but you were long past feeling calm and rational about this.

 

“This morning I woke up to my front lock being destroyed and my parlor...used. There was a cup of tea left on my coffee table, just as brazen as can be. He was IN my HOUSE, Inspector.” Your voice was raising in octaves as well as volume now.

 

The woman who you had dismissed as unimportant when you walked in stepped forward then, and you caught a whiff of her expensive perfume. Maybe if you dressed as elegantly as she did the men at the police station would take you seriously.

 

“Has he ever gotten in the house before?” She asked in a low, gentle voice. As if she was taming a horse. You were determined not to be consoled.

 

“He's never gotten in before, that I'm aware of. But I've noticed the locks having been tampered with before, and there's a posh black car that seems to dog my every step. I see it at least twice a day.”

 

“And the driver?” The woman asked, a gleam in her eye that was unsettling.

 

“Who are you?” You asked, exhaling forcefully through your nose. At least someone was taking you seriously, only too bad that it wasn't the police.

 

“Phryne Fisher.” She said, and a silver embossed card materialized in her gloved hand.

 

“Lady Detective.” You read

 

“I'd be very interested in taking your case, if you can find no help elsewhere.” She said with a meaningful glance at the Inspector that belied an intimacy between them. He really did roll his eyes then.

 

“And included in my services is, of course, a safe place to stay during the investigation. My home is large and, hopefully, to your liking.”

 

You swallowed a lump that had suddenly formed in your throat. Throughout this whole debacle with the police, you hadn't realized that deep down, all you really wanted to hear in the whole world were the words “a safe place to stay.” 

 

It had been weeks since you felt safe and, though you were stubbornly gripping on to your wits, your nerves were so frayed that now even the slightest sound made you jump and your heart pound. You were constantly on edge, knowing that, certainly, your stalker was just around the corner, waiting for you to walk down the hall so he could catch you with a knife.

 

But you would not cry in front of this elegant woman and cruel inspector. You swallowed thickly, composing yourself with a careful breath before nodding.

 

“Finally. Someone with a shred of competence.” You said

 

She winked at you with a smile that made you like her more. 

 

“Well, let's leave the inspector with his other, very pressing, cases and get you settled right away?” She said, her tone rising at the end to indicate a question that wasn't really a question. Of course you didn't want to delay.

–

 

The woman drove fast. You gripped onto the sides of the seat, flip flopping between terror and exhilaration. 

 

“Do you see the car?” She yelled over the roar of the vehicle.

 

“What?” 

 

“The car. The posh black car. Is he following us?”

 

Of course. There was no way that she would  _ always _ drive like this. You looked around, searching for the all too familiar car. 

 

“No. Not right now.” You said. You  pressed your lips together. Would it have been better if he was tailing you right now? You were still feeling defensive, like you needed to prove to everyone that you weren't going crazy. He was real.

 

“Good!” Miss Fisher said. She didn't slow down.

 

When she pulled up in front of a beautiful home, your spirits lifted. If it was really true, that he hadn't somehow followed you and that you would be safe here until he was put away, then this home looked like heaven in your eyes.

 

She showed you to a guest room with a large, east facing window that let the morning sun shine in exuberantly. There was a bed made with fluffy pillows and a beautiful painted chest of drawers topped with a generous mirror.

 

“It looks like a hotel room.” You said in awe

 

Miss Fisher scoffed. “Well, I hope the service will be at  _ least _ as good as you'd find in a hotel. Mr. Butler will be able to help with anything you need. I will call Bert and Cec and when they are available we will all go back to your home to get your things. I don't like the idea of going there without backup.

 

“Back up?” You asked. 

 

“My taxi drivers.” She said with another of those smiles that made you want to just go along with whatever she said, even if it was as odd as expecting taxi drivers to be good back up in a potentially dangerous situation.

 

You were left alone and immediately climbed into the bed, luxuriating in the clean sheets. The pillows smelled like lemon and sage, and, digging around underneath them, you found the linen sachet tucked in the pillow case. You grinned and brought it to your nose, inhaling deeply. 

 

When you woke up, it was dusk and someone was knocking on your door so gently that at first you thought you were imagining it.

 

“Yes, just a second.” You said, hopping out of the bed and attempting to smooth out the wrinkles of your clothes.

 

You answered the door to a girl with the warmest brown eyes you’d ever seen and a sweet, comforting smile.

 

“Miss Fisher and the boys would like to go with you to collect your things from home now.” She said.

 

“Oh.” You couldn’t help but smile back at her as she led you down into the sitting room. The dark turquoise of the walls and the rich golden brown of the furniture were lit softly with several lamps as the dusk turned darker outside and, standing in the middle of the room, were Miss Fisher and two men. Her taxi drivers, presumably.

 

One was tall and sweet. You could tell he was sweet just by looking at him. Mainly it was in the way he stood, with a slight slouch, as if apologizing for taking up room. When he looked at you, he smiled and immediately you knew that Miss Fisher had already told them about your situation. It was that kind of smile that says “I know. It’s alright now.”

 

The other man was a couple inches shorter, but he made up for those inches in confidence. His presence would have dominated the room if Miss Fisher hadn’t been there. No one else could dominate a room with Miss Fisher in it. He had an unlit, hand rolled cigarette hanging from his lips and, as if out of habit, his eyes were slightly narrowed against it’s nonexistent smoke.

 

“Y/N, this is Bert and Cec.” Miss Fisher said, sweeping over towards you and draping an arm over your shoulder as she introduced you. The men took turns taking your hand. Bert, the confident one, squeezed your fingers quite firmly, while Cec ran a thumb over your skin momentarily as if soothing a feral kitten. 

 

“Don’t you worry, miss. Miss Fisher’ll sort out that bastard a’yours.” Bert said. His voice was as strong and sure as his posture. His complete confidence in Miss Fisher bolstered your own and you felt yourself smiling again. You believed him.

 

“Of course I will. But first, Miss Y/N wasn’t expecting an overnight stay when she left her house this morning and us ladies do have our necessities. Plus, I wouldn’t mind having a look around her house.” She said, wasting no time.

 

Soon the four of you, Bert and Cec in front, you and Miss Fisher in the back, were packed into the shining new taxi and you were giving directions back to your home. With each passing moment as you drew closer, the anxiety returned. Your hairs stood up on the back of your neck as you continually jerked your head around to look out the car windows. Searching, as ever, for the black car. 

 

When you pulled up in front of your house, the place you had once been so fond of, that bastion of safety and security that you called home, seemed to loom out of the shadows.

 

“I’m afraid to go in.” You said, feeling silly, as they climbed silently out of the taxi and stood on the sidewalk.

 

A large, warm hand pressed on your upper back. It was Bert, and when you looked at him, the stern determination in his face had faded slightly to reveal a gentle concern that suited him almost as naturally as the old, worn-in hat on his head.

 

“You’re not alone now.” Miss Fisher whispered. “If he is in there, he’s outnumbered.”

 

“We aren’t about to let you get hurt.” Bert chimed in gently.

 

“Let’s go.” Miss Fisher was the one to say it, and she slipped a golden pistol out of her velvet coat pocket as she led the way in through the front door with it’s ruined lock.

 

  
  



	2. Chapter Two: In Which a Gun Goes off which isn't Miss Fisher's

The house was unnaturally still and dark. As you walked in, Miss Fisher walked past you, her gun held in front of her. You wanted to smile, she cut such an odd figure. Perfectly stylish in a fur lined coat and impeccable lipstick, golden pistol at the ready, looking like she could stare down a lion. But you couldn’t smile when your breath was caught painfully in your throat and your every nerve was on edge. Your heart was thrumming like a rabbit, but knowing that you were not alone was what helped you to step into the shadows to turn on the light.

Miss Fisher went up to your bedroom with you, giving the boys instructions to stay downstairs and look around for anything that seemed out of place. She stepped into your bedroom first, brandishing her weapon and flicking on the light, but the room seemed untouched. So you hurried into it and began quickly packing things into the worn blue suitcase from under your bed.

“You don’t need to rush.” Miss Fisher said calmly, looking around the room for anything less obvious that might be a clue. As for you, you were too unnerved by the idea that there could be evidence of his presence in your bedroom to want to tarry too long.

Miss Fisher may have wanted to linger, picking over your house as carefully as a detective should, but you left her following a few steps behind as you went back down the stairs.

You could hear Bert and Cec talking and moving about in the sitting room. Between them and the helpfully nosy Miss Fisher behind you, you were beginning to feel a bit more safe than you had felt in this house for quite some time. You were almost starting to doubt yourself, you’d had constables and inspectors telling you that you were overreacting so many times that it had gotten under your skin. What if you were infringing on these people's sympathy for nothing?

But no. The lock had surely been broken. And that car.

On your mantelpiece there was a small enamel box that contained your grandmother’s rosary. You rarely prayed, but it was an heirloom you didn’t like to leave behind if ever you were staying away from the house. You started towards it. As your hand brushed the lid, opening the small box, you momentarily felt the snag of an unseen fishing line. Your heart dropped into your stomach but there was not even a split second to react before the deafening sound of a gun going off crashed through the air.

You gasped, everyone jumped. Bert, who was standing closest to you, reached for your shoulders and, gripping you, looked you over top to bottom.

“Are you hit?” He asked, panic on his face.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. You?”

He sighed into a smile and straightened up. Cec and Miss Fisher were also unharmed and Miss Fisher was the first to snap out of the post-shock daze and begin inspecting the apparent boobytrap.

She touched the line on the lid of the enamel box and followed it carefully to where it connected to a gun tucked between the books on the bookcase nearby.

“I can’t believe we missed that, Bert.” Cec said quietly. It was an odd time to realize that it was the first full sentence he had said in your presence, but your heart was still struggling to settle into a rhythm resembling normal and your mind was fixating on the oddest things. Bert’s face, full of abject panic. Miss Fisher’s gloves. Your grandmother’s rosary.

“We’d only just got to this room.” Bert apologized, and when you looked at him, he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“It would never have hit her anyway.” Miss Fisher said. “Very rudimentary, not aimed accurately at all. I believe you’ll find the bullet hole in the painting.” 

She straightened up, looking past everyone to the portrait of your mother that hung on the opposite wall. You, Bert, and Cec followed her gaze, turning around to look at that portrait, which now sported an ugly bullet hole right through your mother’s cheek.

“Who is it?” Miss Fisher asked

“My mom.”

\--  
You were all gathered in Miss Fisher’s cozy kitchen later while Dot served tea, suitably horrified by the retelling of events.

“A boobytrap, miss?” She said, looking astounded.

“Not a very ingenious one, mind. But yes.” 

You curled your hands around the steaming cup of tea in front of you. You felt all made of paper, fragile, combustible. You longed for Miss Fisher’s unflappable nature, but it was all you could do now not to cry in front of all these nice strangers. The entire thing was just absurd, you were nobody important, you had no known enemies. You couldn’t wrap your mind around how your life had changed so dramatically in the past few weeks.

You blinked rapidly, willing the exhausted and bewildered tears away. But when you chanced a glance upward, you saw that Bert was watching you. He had the decency to look away at the sight of your red eyes, but you were embarrassed all the same.

“Of course, there is the possibility that it wasn’t poorly aimed at all. Perhaps the painting was the intended target. Where is your mother now, Y/N?”

“Oh.” You looked up, surprised by suddenly having everyone’s eyes on you again. “Heaven, miss. She died two years ago.”

“Did she have any enemies?”

“I can’t rightly think of anyone who would be angry with her. She never seemed to be in any kind of trouble.”

The conversation drifted away from you again and you returned your attention to the tendrils of steam rising from the surface of your tea. All too soon, the lively talk in the kitchen seemed to be dying down and Miss Fisher was angling for bed. 

“We will keep digging into this in the morning, but it’s late. Boys?” She glanced at Bert and Cec.

“We’ll keep watch of the house on our rounds tonight.” Bert said automatically, earning a grateful smile from the genius lady as if he’d read her mind 

“Thank you.” You said

“It’s no problem, right Cec?” Bert said. Cec nodded silently with a small smile. Bert’s voice was large and sanguine enough for the both of them. His unspoken communication was just as pertinent though, and he glanced at you in such a way that recalled that he’d caught you with tears in your eyes, and wanted you to know that he’d taken up responsibility for your protection. 

The kindness of this odd family of strangers was nearly as overwhelming as your stalker situation, and you hardly made it up to the room before collapsing into the bed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Boiling Water is Less Dangerous Than a Certain man's Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind comments. I'm glad that a few people, at least, are excited for a bert-centric fic. I'm obsessed with those sweet taxi driving communists, haha. I'm happy that I'm not the only one.

It was a Monday when you met Phryne Fisher at the police station. Now it was Thursday.

 

Every day the social fashionista disappeared from the house. She was a busy woman, with many friends and relationships, and you hoped that, in amongst all those social calls, she was doing something in relation to your case.

 

You had no idea what she  _ could _ be doing. You’d been trying to get to the bottom of the situation for weeks, without getting anywhere closer to finding out who was terrorizing you. In those days you mainly stayed in your room. It really did feel like a hotel, and stepping out to wander the halls seemed wrong somehow. 

 

Dot and Mr. Butler were friendly enough, but it was difficult to relax. Especially at night. You had been wound up so tight for so long, that even now, wrapped in fluffy blankets and safe in a place where he couldn’t find you, you struggled to sleep. It was easier during the day, when you could snatch quick naps in the sheaths of sunlight that streamed through the large window in the bedroom. The room was so bright it felt like there was no shadows at all. But at night, they crept back, taking up their positions in doorways and around corners. The lamps in the room weren't enough to dispel them all. And you would lay in that gorgeous bed, completely oblivious to it’s comforts, staring up at the ceiling, your every sense painfully alert to any sound or stirring. 

 

That Thursday night, the clock on the bookcase said 1:47 and your skin felt all full of ants. With a huff, you sat up straight and threw your legs over the side of the bed. As lovely as that room was, you couldn’t stand to lay in it a moment longer. Quickly, you tossed a large shawl over your shoulders and stepped into a pair of slippers and slipped out into the hallway.

 

The hallways were worse than the bedroom. It was dark, and there were so many corners. Your skin crawled and you nearly tumbled down the stairs in your rush to make it to the kitchen. Once there, you threw on all the lights. The smaller room became emblazoned with light and you set to work busying yourself with making tea. 

 

It was something to do.

 

As the water was brought to a boil, you peeped into Miss Fisher’s cupboards. Not looking for anything, really. Just occupying yourself to keep your mind off the all too familiar feeling of being watched. 

 

Finally, the kettle began to squeal. You hurriedly picked it up off the burner to keep from making too much noise, but just as you did, you heard the back door behind you open. Your hand still on the kettle handle, you flew around, sending boiling water spraying in an arc around you.

 

“Oi!” Bert yelled. 

 

“Christ!” You gasped. “Bert! What on earth? What are you thinking?”

 

“What’m  _ I  _ thinking? You’re the one spraying boiling water around!”

 

You breathed, suddenly feeling your face going hot, and red too most likely. You rushed forward, stupidly brushing at the water on his coat with your useless, unabsorbent hand. 

 

“Did I burn you?” 

 

He brushed at his sleeve and shook his head. “Nah. No damage done. I’m sorry for sneaking up on ya. I can understand why you’d be jumpy.”

 

You scoffed and turned back around, filling up the now half-empty kettle and replacing it on the stove.

 

“What are you doing up at this time of night?” Bert asked

 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

 

When you turned around, Bert had a kitchen towel in his hand and was mopping up the spill from the countertop.

 

“Let me do that.” You said, reaching for the towel. He moved it just out of reach though, cleaning a further splatter. 

 

“I got it.”

 

You laughed, the sound of it a bit giddy in your ears. The sudden shock was still reverberating through your blood, but despite your embarrassment, it was good to have company.

 

“Are you and Cec guarding the house?” You asked “I know she told you two to watch my house. But not hers.”

 

“She didn’t ask me to, but I’ve got a mind of me own. I am allowed to do things she doesn’t tell me to, you know.”

 

You heard him moving behind you, pulling up a chair and settling into it. So you brought down another teacup and set it on the counter next to yours before sitting down at the little table too.

 

“So you think there’s reason to keep watch on this house?”

 

“Cec and I are up at all hours shuttling fares back and forth. It’s no skin off my nose to keep an eye out. Just in case. And Miss Fisher knows we stop by for coffee some nights when there’s good business.”

 

“I’m not accusing you of sneaking.” You said “I’m just curious.”

 

He kind of smiled. His hands were on the table and he busied himself with picking at his cuticles. 

 

“Are ya...do you often have a hard time sleeping?” He asked after the pause had gone on too long to be comfortable.

 

“Oh. Recently. Yes. I mean I’m sure you can--”

 

“Yeh. Right. I understand.”

 

Mercifully, the kettle began to squeal again. You pushed your chair back to get up but he was faster than you, bolting upward as if he was spring loaded.

 

“Let me.” He said “I assume you were after tea, not coffee?” He asked, his back towards you

 

“Yes.” You were grateful for the company, yes, but you’d been having people wait nervously on you for a few days. It was weird that even Bert was doing it now. He hardly seemed the “serve the lady tea” type.

 

When he sat back down, black coffee in hand, and slid a teacup across to you, it was a relief. You hated feeling useless. And you’d been feeling little else for far too long.

 

“I can’t think of a safer place in Melbourne than here.” He began without preamble. “Miss Fisher keeps things locked down pretty tight. And like I said, Cec and I are keeping an eye out at night. There’s no need to be afraid now, ‘specially not too afraid to sleep.”

 

You sighed. “I flip flop between fear and anger, actually. Neither of them are very helpful when it comes to falling asleep.”

 

“Anger?” He asked. It was probably your imagination but you thought you saw him perk up slightly. As if to say “Ah, now there’s an emotion I know how to talk about.”

 

You chuckled quietly “Not that being angry helps anything. But yes. I’ve had my life turned upside down and for nothing. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

 

“It’s good to be angry sometimes.” He said “Keeps your blood pumping.”

 

“Well it’s pumping all right.”

 

He laughed quietly and your face went hot again. You never used to blush this easily. This whole ordeal was turning you batty.

 

“Does Miss Fisher employ you? You and Cec, I mean.”

 

Bert shook his head. Then seemed to reconsider. Then shrugged. “Not officially. We help with the ear to the ground type things in some cases. And provide the muscle if it’s needed. But naw. I wouldn’t say we work for her. Not really. We work for ourselves.” He said, sitting up a bit straighter.

 

A smile slowly crept onto your lips. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

 

He softened slightly. “I ain’t offended.”

 

“You seem quite free with her kitchen, is all.” I teased

 

“She can afford my price in coffee.” He grinned. His was the kind of smile that transformed a man’s face. His neutral face was a bit stern, really. Tacitern even, at times. But his smile made him look like a boy.

 

“And more, by the looks of it.” You said, letting your gaze wander the room, lingering on the silver serving trays and candle sticks and the full pantry.

 

He followed your gaze and when you looked back at him he smiled again. “She’s a right toff, alright.”

 

“Opulent.” You said.

 

“Extravagant!” He added, and you both laughed quietly, conscious of being the only ones awake in a sleeping house.

 

Hearing him recount the story of how he and Cec came to be ‘unofficially employed’ by the woman was an experience in itself. The way she had just swooped in and plucked them out, choosing the two men for her own devices, seemed all too familiar.

 

“She does seem to do that, doesn’t she?” You interjected. “Swoop in suddenly and mix things up.”

 

“It’s her specialty, I’d say.” He agreed.

 

“She’s a kind person.”   
  
“Well I wasn’t lured in by her money or good looks. She’s a bit flash for my taste.”

 

If he were the blushing type, which he most certainly was not, he might have just then. Judging entirely by the way nervously chewed the corner of his lip when you looked up at him.

 

“ _ and why are you telling me what your taste in women is, anyway? _ ” The question hung, unasked but all too conspicuous, in the air between you.

 

“It’s all a bit much for me, too.” You assured him

 

Saying so seemed to make him nervous, for some reason, and he downed the dregs of his cup.

 

“I best be off.” He said, standing up and taking his cup to the sink to wash it and place it back in the cupboard. As if he’d never been there.

 

“Right. Of course.” You unconsciously followed him to the sink, copying his actions.

 

“I’m sorry about your coat.” You said, mentioning to his still damp sleeve.

 

“It’s nothing. And listen, rest easy, alright? Nothing’s gonna happen to ya here.”

 

You nodded. “I do feel a bit better, knowing you are keeping an eye out at night. You and Cec, I mean.”

 

“Right. Me and Cec. Goodnight then.” He touched the brim of his hat and was gone as quickly as he had come. The kitchen seemed brighter now, and you quickly tidied it up before returning to bed. You hardly even had to run up the stairs. And, for once, you did sleep that night.


	4. Chapter Four: In Which Apple Muffins and Significant Glances are Exchanged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. My kids have the flu D; Anyway, the nice comments have been so great. I'm not used to writing for an audience haha

Dot had created a new recipe, and all but Miss Fisher were gathered in the kitchen to try it. The morning sun streamed in, casting everyone in a cozy glow as they bit into Dot's new apple muffins. She was brilliant in the kitchen, everyone knew, so no one held back with their first bites. Large mouthfuls kept everyone necessarily silent for a moment. But only for a moment.

 

"Brilliant, Dot!" Mr. Butler was the first to say

 

You agreed enthusiastically. They were brilliant. Just the right amount of crust on the top and bursting with fresh apple flavor.

 

Bert and Cec grunted their approval, tucking in with relish after, what you could only guess, had been a long night of working and surveillance.

 

It had been another week now, and the case had stalled. You knew it. It was obvious. Miss Fisher hardly talked about the case. But everyone was too polite to say anything to you about it. You wondered if there was any way to solve this mystery, and when Miss Fisher would finally throw in the towel and ask you, in her polite and dignified way, to scram.

 

You wished then that you could just stay there forever. Like Dot or Mr. Butler. If only you had any marketable skills and could convince her to adopt you as she seemed to have adopted these others. Unfortunately, unlike these other lovely people, all you were good for was sleeping in sun shafts and haunting the place at night when everyone but you was able to fall fast asleep.

 

Sometimes you caught Bert or Cec in the kitchen late at night. Bert more often than Cec. That was always nice because you began to feel a bit more like you belonged here whenever you got caught in a conversation with him. Plus you were often able to sleep after talking to him in that odd, timeless feeling late-night kitchen. The nights were becoming almost as comfortable as the days now, and returning to your home which has been your fortress of fear for so long, seemed less than appealing.

  
  
The kitchen seemed totally different by. Miss Fisher's house was large, but the kitchen wasn't oversized. And yet everyone seemed to congregate in it, making it seem larger. The room, that often felt so small and comfortably close when it was two in the morning and you were alone in it with Bert, seemed to expand as needed to fit whoever wandered in during the day.

 

You caught Bert's eye and he smiled as he chewed. You wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

 

Miss Fisher breezed in wearing a silk robe, her hair fetchingly unbrushed, and sat on the edge of the table, popping a bite of muffin in her mouth without saying anything. Her eyes went wide.

 

"What is this?" She asked

 

Dot piped up shyly, explaining her recipe.

 

"I shall have you bake for us more often, Dot. I had no idea you were such a prodigy. I should have guessed though." 

 

Her eyes found yours and she changed subject suddenly. "I need to talk to you when you have the time. "

 

"I have time now." you said, standing up and forgetting your muffin. 

 

Of course you had time. As if your schedule was as packed as hers was, so much that you could forget for even one second why you was in this house to begin with. 

 

"Oh. Well, bring your muffin at least." She said, standing up. "I didn't mean to interrupt this nice family breakfast."

 

She smiled around the room looking as proud as a mother hen. "I really ought to get up before nine more often."

 

You had a hard time matching her light attitude as you followed her into the green-wallpapered parlor. You sat down, holding the muffin in a napkin on your lap. Your mouth had gone terribly dry.

 

"Is it about the case?" You asked. Knowing it had to be.

 

"Yes." She sat down, tossing one leg stylishly over the other. "i am beginning to believe very strongly that your stalker isn't a normal stalker."

 

"Meaning?"

 

"Meaning I don't think he thinks he's in love with you. It's doesn't appear to be that way, at lease. I have been keeping a close eye on your house, and it seems like he is visiting it rather often. Often enough that he's realized that you aren't staying there anymore. A few things have gone missing, but nothing of great monetary value. A silk shawl from the back of your chair. A hairbrush set. And, oddly enough, photographs.

 

"Photos?" I asked, confused.

 

"Yes. Family photos. And that painting of your mother, I don't think that it was an accident. The box that triggered the trap, it contained a rosary, didn't it?"

 

"Yes, my grandmother's."

 

"See, exactly. And the gun was pointed well away from the box trigger, so it had to be aimed at the painting on purpose."

 

"But, I've told you already, I don't think my mother ever got into any kind of trouble. We had a quiet life."

 

"And a rather comfortable one, it seems. Forgive my asking, but what is it exactly that you do?" She asked me

 

"Do?" You asked, uncomfortable as always with the question. "My..My mother had some money. I never had to do much, if I lived modestly. I aim involved in charitable organizations. On a volunteer basis."

 

"Did you mother inherit her money?" 

 

"I assume so. Though, I think you must be wrong about my harasser being a family member. I don't have any that I know of. It was always just mother and me. I never met any other family and she never spoke to any."

 

Phryne had that look on her face where you could practically see the gears turning in her head. You were still trying to sit with the idea that the man following you was related to you somehow. You'd been naturally curious about your family your whole life, as anyone would be, but your mother had never said much about them and you didn't really know where to begin looking for information about them. Over the years, it became less important. You rarely thought about it at all anymore. To think that someone in your family could have been so close the whole time. But why would they be so angry at you?

 

"I think I may have to find your family, Y/N. In order to get to the bottom of who is harassing you." Her voice trailed off slightly, as if she were asking you permission.

 

"I'm being honest, I don't know of any kind of family conflict. I've tried looking for my grandmother a couple times but it didn't really go anywhere. It's not so easy when you don't have any information to go off of. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

 

"You're a tremendous help, as always." Phryne said placatingly, though her mind seemed to be elsewhere.

 

"Why do you think that this man is so angry at me?"

 

Her lips pulled down in the corners and her head tilted to the side slightly. You'd come to recognize this expression. She was thinking, as always, but more specifically, she was thinking of how she wanted to say what she would say next.

 

After a moment she tossed her hands up gracefully. "Well, obviously it must be about money somehow. It's almost always about money, you know. Money or love. Though, in the case of a stalking, I should think that money is the safer motivation, if that is any comfort to you. If you have been having trouble sleeping, thinking about what he wanted from you, perhaps it's better that it is money he wants, and not something altogether more intimate."

 

She gave you a meaningful glance over her shoulder and, actually, what she brought up was rather a relief, once you got past the shock of the possibility that he may  be family. Perhaps you hadn't been consciously fearing what exactly would happen if he ever got to you, but of course it had always been in the back of your mind.

 

"Have I woken you?" You asked, thinking she must know about your late night wanderings. Of course you had woken her during one of your nightly scrambles down the terrifying stairs. "I'll try to be more quiet."

 

"I keep odd hours myself at times." She said with a suggestive wink that brought a smile to your face in spite of yourself. 

 

"Though..." She continued "I will tell you that I am quite attached to my cabbie, and I hope you will be careful with his affections. He isn't  _nearly_  as cynical as he pretends to be."

 

Your face grew hot and your fingers gripped at the fabric of your skirt. 

 

"Oh, I haven't---he's been keeping me company is all. Some nights. Just coffee."

 

"I wasn't accusing you of anything." She said, her customary cat-like grin on her face. "Now rush back to breakfast before he leaves. And cheer up. I shall have this case in hand before much longer."

 


End file.
